Crazy About Curves: 10 Luscious Reads

by Adriana Hunter

  During the first weeks I made Maria's life hell. Every single time she opened the door, I fought her and tried to escape. Every single time Miguel was right behind me and dragged me back in my room kicking and screaming. I swear the man will never forget me. He now has scars on his face and on his arms to remember me by. I gave it all I had.

  God, did I fight. I stopped when the struggles brought about contractions. Maria warned me: "If you keep that up you're going to lose the baby."

  Well now it's happening. I'm about to lose my baby. I feel so helpless. I hate it. I need to find a way out of here. I know where we're going. We've been at the medical center eight times already to get me checked up and supervised. The first time they gave me all kinds of blood tests and then they pronounced me healthy as a horse and free from any diseases. They prescribed a diet that Maria has made me follow religiously. I don't think any one had ever taken such good care of me before but I can't enjoy it because it's all for the wrong reason.

  They are not taking care of me for me, they are treating me like a giant incubator. For them I'm this baby manufacturing machine they need to maintain to get a perfect product in the end. On the way to the center for checkups, I was able to figure out that that the facility where I am to give birth is located near a town called Jupiter. The facility is run by some cult and it's organized like a high security prison. Once Maria and her husband check me in I'll never be able to escape. I’ve been there enough to realize that.

  Every single time I was there, Maria and Miguel made sure that I never met anybody else but the staff. Nevertheless I got a glimpse of several pregnant girls and once in a while I heard babies cry. My guess is that it’s the maternity ward of a home for pregnant girls.

  As the pain recedes, Maria helps me get in a sitting position and gently gets me up on my feet and down the stairs of the house. She makes me sit in front of a large fan and explains that we’re going to wait a little while. Miguel’s gone to get the car. The fresh air from the fan is a welcome treat. I fall asleep almost right away. Not for long.

  A few contraction sets later, Maria wakes me up and says, "Come on, Lyv. You need to walk out to the car before the next contraction comes."

  I follow her. This trip is my last chance to escape but I’m big and so tired, I can barely walk by myself. Maria sits in the back of the car with me. She lays me down with my head on her knees and cradles me in her arms. "It's going to be all right," she says. "The doctors are going to give you something for the pain. Come on baby, just a little while longer and it will be fine. Take a deep breath."

  I don't want to breathe. I want to die. But then if I die now I will kill my baby. What kind of mother would that make me? The pain comes back and I scream. It's not only the pain, it's the frustration, the helplessness. I'm hurt and angry. I kick the door of the car every time the contractions come back. Miguel curses under his breath in Spanish and Maria scolds him. As if I cared about what he's saying. I'm in so much pain, I don't care about anything else.

  We reach our destination and Miguel jumps out to open the door on my side. Maria gently tries to push me out of the car. I refuse to move. I know I'm not making sense but I won't budge. As long as I'm in the car I'm not having my baby and as long as I'm not having my baby, they can't take him or her away from me.

  Miguel understands they won't be able to handle me alone. He goes to get help. This is my last chance. If I make it to the main road maybe a car will stop and help me escape. I muster all my strength and manage to slide out of the car. I lean on the side of the vehicle to get on my feet. I start to walk back in the direction we just came from before Maria understands what's happening.

  I'm just a few feet away from the car when the next contraction hits. Hell, it's getting worse. I can't breathe. I grit my teeth and take one more step. Come on, Lyv, you can do it. Just one more step. My legs fail me and I fall to my hands and knees on the gravel. The combined pains are excruciating. I breathe in and scream, "Help, somebody help me please!"

  On all fours now I try to move further away from the car. I can barely budge and then strong hands pick me up. I'm lifted on a gurney.

  This is it. I lost. The Bitch wins.

  I'm going to lose my baby.

  They wheel me into a delivery room. The contractions are closer and closer as well as stronger and stronger. Time has taken a strange turn. It stretches forever during the contractions and then flies away in between. I’ve totally lost all sense of time. I don’t know if it’s been hours or days. This can’t go on for much longer. If it does I’ll die of exhaustion.

  The midwife looks tired too and Maria seems worried. She coos at me and wipes my forehead with a towel. Maria's been next to me the entire time holding my hand. It's so perverse that the only comfort I'm getting now is provided by the woman who's dragged me here.

  “Almost done,” says the midwife.

  I’m so tired I don’t even have the strength to follow her instructions. When she says push, I try to push but it doesn’t seem to do anything. I scream in pain and frustration. A soft woman’s voice asks if they can’t give me something for the pain and the midwife answers “In pain you shall bring forth children.”

  No kidding!

  After what seems like an eternity, the midwife says, "One more and we'll be done." I try to push again, I give it all I have and I hear a baby wail. The midwife clamps the umbilical cord and wraps the baby in a small cloth. "It's a girl," she says.

  A woman I had not seen before steps in my line of vision. She's in her twenties and very pretty. She takes my daughter in her arms. She looks lovingly at her and says, "Hello, welcome to the world, little Eve."

  Her voice is very melodious and there's a lilt to her speech, probably a southern accent. I can't identify it precisely. She’s the one who asked if there was nothing to help me with the pain. I look at her and start to sob uncontrollably. This woman is going to take my baby away and there is nothing I can do about it. I'm too weak to fight and even if I did find it in me to stand, they would overpower me in a second.

  The woman turns around to looks at me and she tells me, "I'm going to take very good care of her, I promise. I've been waiting for her for so long, she's going to be the happiest little girl on the planet." I can see she means it but it doesn't make it hurt less.

  The midwife presses on my tummy and looks a little worried. “Got to get the placenta out,” she says to Maria who’s still holding my hand. It’s so weird the way she won’t look at me when she says that.

  “I’m sorry dear,” she says, “but I have no choice but to do this.” I’m not sure who she’s talking too but she takes my daughter back from the woman’s arms and brings her to me. "Right now this little girl needs to get some food.”

  She sits me up and tells me there’s nothing better for a baby that her mother’s milk. I'm overjoyed. Maybe I’ll get to spend some time with my little girl. Maybe I’ll get another chance to run with her but then the midwife pulls away the sheet that covers me and while she puts my baby in my arms and one of my nipples in her mouth she tells me breast feeding is going to do me good.

  “Breast feeding causes contractions that help the uterus expel the placenta. So don’t be startled if you feel new contractions. It's part of a normal process,” she explains to me and I understand that this is the reason why I get to hold my daughter, the placenta’s not coming out spontaneously. My daughter starts nursing and indeed, it feels as if there's a direct line between my breasts and my lower regions. The new contractions are not nearly as painful as before. They’re mild enough that I can think about something else.

  I can think about Eve.

  If I can't find a way to escape with her, her name is going to be Eve. Actually it could be her name no matter what. It's pretty, I like it.

  Her beautiful grey eyes lock onto mine and I dissolve in a torrent of tears. Eve frowns, I don't think it's my tears, it's the concentration. Nursing looks like hard work. After a few minutes she stops and falls asleep the nipp
le still in her mouth while the contractions continue. The midwife looks happy. The placenta is coming out.

  CHAPTER 9

  Now I know, it’s in Florida that I’ve been locked up.

  The train ride back to New York takes forever. I look through the window but I don't really see anything. I feel numb. I stopped feeling when they took Eve away after two days of nursing.

  I know it's my own fault if I only had her for two days and not a week as they had originally planned but I have no regrets. I had to try to get away at least one more time. I'm glad I did.

  Obviously trying to set the building on fire was not such a clever idea but that was the only thing that I could think of that would force them to throw all the doors wide open. I look at the picnic bag Maria gave me as she sat me in the train. There's a bottle of water and a couple of sandwiches. I'm parched. Lately I've always felt parched. I've turned into a milk manufacturing plant, I guess I need fluids.

  Well except there's no one to manufacture the milk for anymore. One of the nurses or rather wardens told me to look for milk banks. I had no idea there was such a thing but it seems they’ve been around since the beginning of the century. I understand that women with too much milk can go "pump-up" in those places and give away their production.

  One of the other girls in the ward advised me against it. She said pumping keeps the machine going and I probably don't want to do that. She's right, I don't. But still, I'm parched so I drink the water and stare outside again.

  Eve's adoptive mother looked like a caring woman. She was very sweet to me. She told me Eve would see a lot of the world. Her husband shushed her. I guess he wanted me to know as little about them as possible. It was a bit silly, when they spoke in front of me, he called her "wife" instead of using her first name. I had never heard someone talk to a spouse that way. He seems very devoted to her but not really a baby guy. "Wife" will have to make sure that Eve grows on him.

  All things considered her life will very likely be easier with them than it would have been with me. Before they left, I asked her, "Will you tell her she's adopted?" The woman said no. Maybe it's better this way. I'm not sure I would have had an appropriate message for this woman to give her from me. I just pray that she'll be happy.

  I fall asleep. When I wake up my picnic bag is gone. Well, I wasn't going to eat it anyway. I still have my own bag I was using as a pillow. I do the inventory. Two jeans, three tee-shirts and some underwear. I'm still wearing one of my tents. Everything in this bag is probably too small. I know the bras are for sure.

  At the bottom of the bag there's some small change. In the bag pocket there's a train ticket to go from New York City to Long Island. As if I were ever going back there! I shred the ticket in tiny pieces and as I drop the confetti in the ashtray, I realize I could probably have obtained a refund. That was dumb. I hit my head against the window. Why am I so stupid?

  I need to find a job. I need to get a life.

  I go back to sleep and wake up in Manhattan. I exit the train and the station. At the corner of the street there are four phones. Two are out of order and only one of the two others is busy. I take a dime of my pocket and dial Ten's number. I silently pray for him to answer but on the fourth ring the answering machine picks up. I hate talking to machines. I'm about to hang up and then think better of it. The least I can do is leave a message to let him know I'm all right.

  The machine beeps and I start to talk, "Ten, it's me..." and then I stop because I don't know what more to say. What could I possibly tell him, that I'm fine? I'm not. Well not really. “I just wanted to speak with you,” I say and then I hear a click and Ten's voice.

  "Lovey, is that you?"

  Listening to the sound of his voice and his name for me is so good. It's overwhelming. I laugh and cry at the same time and barely manage to say, "Yes."

  "Where are you Lovey?" he asks. His voice is choked.

  "Penn station," I say. "Across from the post office."

  "Okay. Don't move. Stay there. I'm coming for you. I'll be with you in twenty minutes."

  I hang up the phone and start pacing. I've spent so much time locked up in my room and unable to see my feet that just being able to walk freely and to look at my toes feels exhilarating. I need to concentrate on the little joys to forget the bigger pain. I eavesdrop on the conversation of the woman who's still speaking on the corner phone. She's telling a friend about a blind date from hell. She's funny and listening to her description of the sorry ass she spent the evening with gets a smile on my face.

  “So finally he said, ‘I’m not a breast man, I’m more into butts than breasts,’” she tells her friend. “Can you imagine the nerve of this guy? So I just got up and walked away ... yeah, you’re right, that gave him a chance to appreciate my butt and to find out what he missed for arriving late.” She laughs and swears that she’ll never again go on a blind date.

  I don't know if it's her good humor or the pulse of the city or yet again the fact that Ten is coming to get me but I'm starting to feel better. I look around. Just from where I'm standing I can see a dozen restaurants. I won't have a problem finding a job in this city. I just need to whip myself into shape and buy some new clothes. To do that I need to get my money out of my saving accounts. I left my saving pass with Martha. I’m pretty sure it remained safe with her and she’ll mail it to me when I ask her.

  I'm still pacing when Ten arrives. He's carrying an extra helmet strapped around his elbow. I run to him and hug him fiercely, “Please take me away from here.”

  He blinks and gives me the second helmet. I grab it and hop in behind him. At least the tent like dress I’m wearing is wide enough to keep me decent while we ride. I’m sore and the vibrations of the machine are painful on my lower regions but I don’t care. I’m free. Another twenty minutes through rush hour traffic and we descend in the parking garage of his building. We dismount and he takes my bag and my hand as we walk to the elevators. He's holding my hand so tight it's almost too much but I'm fine with it. I so badly need the connection.

  The garage is busy. People are coming and going. A couple of mechanics are working on a car. Just as we walk in the elevator, another couple arrives. They're on their way to the penthouse. We stop two floors before. We enter his apartment and Ten calls out as he walks me through the living room, "Anybody home?"

  No one answers. I guess we're alone. We enter Ten's bedroom suite and he slams the door behind us, drops our stuff on his desks and takes my face in his hands. He looks at me intently as if trying to make sure I'm all right. I can see that he's relieved to have me here but still concerned.

  "Your mother said you ran away. I didn't believe her for a second. If you had run you would have run to me or to Xander, not away from us." I nod. I love that he never doubted me. I adore that he did not believe her. I know his trust and his love for me are as unconditional as mine for him.

  "What happened?" he asks. "Where have you been? I've been worried sick about you." I want to tell him everything but I don't know where to start. I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his chest. His hand is messing up my hair. "Come on, Lovey, talk to me."

  "I was in Florida, locked up for months." I say and my voice turns into a whisper as I tell him, "I just had a baby. A little girl and they took her away from me."

  He holds me tight as I tell him about the windowless room and Maria and Miguel. I tell him about Eve and how I failed her and how I failed Alexander and myself. I tell him I'm never going back to the Bitch's place.

  When I'm done speaking, he just says, "Right now you need to rest. You're going to stay with me at least until you get your strength back and then you'll see what you want to do." His voice is so cold, it scares me.

  "Are you mad?" I ask him.

  He lifts my head to look into my eyes, "Mad as hell but not at you, Baby, never at you." There’s something different about him. It’s not just the fact that he called me baby, which he’s never done before, it’s something else and I can’t put my f
inger on it.

  He looks around in his drawers for one large tee shirt and then walks with me to the adjacent bathroom. He has a gigantic shower. A nice change from the tiny cubicle I had to use lately at the clinic. "Come on Lovey, get ready for bed. I know it's early but you look like you need to get some sleep. I'll be right next door in the living room. If you're hungry later, I'll order something." He kisses my forehead and says, "If you sleep through the night we'll talk tomorrow."

  I undress and avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I throw away the pads I had lined the inside of my bra with to absorb the leakage. My breasts hurt. I step under very warm water and I press to get some milk out and relieve the pressure. Somehow the heat helps. I wash my hair and appreciate the seemingly endless supply of water.

  I dry up and slip in Ten's T-shirt and then in Ten's bed. I rest my head on a pillow and it smells like him, sweet and comforting. It's only 6 p.m. according to the clock on the nightstand but Ten is right, I'm exhausted.

  I wake up in a jolt. I feel like my head hit the pillow three seconds ago but according to the clock it's been more than five hours. My breasts are so tense I think I’m about to explode. Ten is in the bed next to me. It’s weird. I mean on our little corner of the beach in Long Island I have laid next to him hundreds of times but I’ve never been in bed with him. He's turned on the light in the bathroom and left the door slightly ajar. I love him so for thinking of little stuff like that.

  In the dim light I can see that he's on his side leaning on one elbow looking at me. What's really strange is that he's not looking at my face. He's looking a little more south. I follow his gaze to my breast region and realize the front of the shirt is soaking wet. I'm leaking. I should have worn a bra and padded the inside with toilet paper. I forgot.